


the weight of your ribs feels like home

by ofherlionheart



Series: ripped at every edge, but still a masterpiece [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, POV Kent Parson, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofherlionheart/pseuds/ofherlionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need advice. About a guy.”</p><p>For a second, there is only silence on Carly’s end of the line – and then she bursts out in uncontrollable laughter.</p><p>Kent’s neck burns. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”</p><p>“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Carly cries. “I just – oh, my God. Kent Parson is coming to me with boy trouble.”</p><p>----------</p><p>Life doesn’t get easier just because Kent came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the weight of your ribs feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done with Kent and Eli, but I guess I wasn't …
> 
> Title comes from a blend of Halsey lyrics from the songs "Drive" and "Roman Holiday." (I don't know why, but Halsey songs just scream Parson to me.)
> 
> Please let me know if there are any grammar/typing errors!
> 
> If there are any errors with timeline or the technicalities of being an NHL player, they are not intentional, and I apologize for any such mistakes; I only know so much.
> 
> Characters and anything else from the "Check, Please!" universe belong to the wonderful, darling Ngozi. Give her all the love, guys, she is amazing.

**I.**

* * *

****Sometimes, Kent gets caught up in the moment, and his rationale just goes out the door. Right now, at 11 AM on January 1st, Kent is thinking that he has just had one of those moments. That moment, specifically, was midnight, and what a _great_ way to start off the new year! With an impulsive decision that has given Kent his first major headache of the year.

He really likes Eli. For once, Kent has not immediately hopped into bed with the guy he is after, and their midnight kiss was just that – a kiss. Afterwards, they had returned to the party separately, and around 1 AM, Kent drove himself home.

No, the problem is that Kent _really_ likes Eli, and he wants _more_ than a kiss or a one night stand with Eli, but God, Kent is not ready for that – he is fine with the world knowing he is gay, but he sure as hell is not ready to be in a gay relationship for all the world to see.

So Kent does not contact Eli. The Aces leave for a roadie on the morning of January 2nd, so it is all too easy for Kent to avoid Eli and make excuses for his cowardice. Yet all the while, like some guilt-trip playback, the promise Kent made just before midnight is stuck in his head.

_Are you serious about this?_

_Yeah. I’m serious._

* * *

It has been almost a month of avoiding Eli when Kent gets the call. He is poking his breakfast eggs around the pan when his cell phone starts ringing, and he is surprised to see his mother’s name on the screen. She does not usually call on Sundays.

“Mom?”

“Kenny,” his mother says, and her breathless tone immediately sets off alarms in Kent’s head.

“What? What happened?” he asks urgently.

“Oh, no, Kenny, it’s nothing bad. I just –” She breaks off and laughs, halfway breathless. “Maybe I should have had Louisa tell you this.”

“Come on, Mom, you’re freaking me out,” Kent says, only half-joking. He is already trying to figure out how quickly he could get a plane to upstate New York, just in case something actually has gone wrong.

“Do you remember meeting Clark when you were here for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Kent says cautiously. He turns off his stovetop and dumps his eggs onto a plate, unsure if he would be able to keep his kitchen from burning down should his mother drop a real bomb on him.

His mother takes a deep breath, and Kent can just _hear_ the beaming smile in her voice: “Clark proposed to me.”

It is the last thing Kent was expecting to hear, and for a moment, he is utterly dumbfounded. “Wha – _Mom_. Really?”

“Really.”

“I – congratulations?” Kent tries. “What am I supposed to say when my mother gets engaged?”

His mother laughs. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“You’re happy.”

Her voice softens, and Kent can perfectly imagine the way her lips must be curling into a gentle smile. “I’m happy, Kenny,” she confirms, and suddenly, Kent feels like he might cry.

“Then I’m happy for you, Mom.”

* * *

The next day after practice, as they are undressing in the locker room, Kent finds Romi at his stall and asks, “How long does it take to plan a wedding?”

Romi double takes. “Parse, are you getting hitched?” he demands, and curse Romi’s loud voice – now the entire locker room is paying attention.

“Parse has a _boyfriend?_ ” Fassi demands, poking his head out of his locker.

Kent sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead. “No, Fassi,” he says, but it is too late to stop the onslaught of commentary.

“Cap! Congrats!”

“I don’t see a ring.”

“Can gay people even get married in Nevada?”

“What the fuck, man, of course they can. Remember that Supreme Court thing last summer?”

Kent rolls his eyes. “It’s not for _me_ ,” he says. “My mom is getting remarried.”

“Fuck, really?” Kiki says. “I really liked your mom!”

“Stay away from her,” Kent immediately responds.

“Took me an’ Aurora about eight months,” Romi says, finally answering Kent’s question. “Would’ve been longer, but Aurora already knew a lot of the things she wanted, and her old man was up for paying for anything.”

Kent nods. Louisa is the one who is, for the most part, in charge of arranging the wedding, but it is not like Louisa has ever done this before. Kent wants to help, but the only wedding he has ever been to is Romi’s, and it is slightly terrifying that of all people, Kent is looking to _Romi_ for wedding advice. And it is not even Kent’s own wedding.

Romi seems to pick up on Kent’s internal monologue, because he narrows his eyes and says, “Why don’t I put you in contact with Aurora? She’d love to help.”

“Thanks,” Kent says, genuinely relieved, and Romi shakes his head.

“Whatever you need, Parser.”

* * *

They have back-to-back home games against the Preds and the Sens. Kent lives for these games, when he has to push himself beyond his physical limits if he wants to come out on top, but in a weird, scrambling play in the Predators game, Kent pulls a muscle in his back. It is bad enough that the training staff forces Kent to take a day off, so instead of sitting on the bench with his team when the Senators come to their home ice, Kent trudges his way up to the press box, his snapback pulled low over his face.

When he reaches the box, of course it is Eli already sitting there, his face buried in his cell phone. Kent glances around the room, but everyone else here is a reporter, so Kent inhales deeply and bites the inside of his lip before moving forward to take the seat next to Eli.

Eli looks up when Kent sits down, and, to Kent’s surprise, he smiles easily. “Good evening, Captain,” Eli says.

Kent nods and takes off his hat. “You’re not on the Snapchat today?” he asks.

“Nope. I’m on babysitting duty.”

Kent side-eyes him, and Eli just grins and winks. It is a perfectly normal Eli reaction, and it makes Kent want to punch Eli and then punch himself. Of course Eli would be kind to Kent even after Kent has acted like the typical douche-y guy who does not text or call back. Of course Kent would be the asshole in the situation.

Of course, when Eli grins at him, Kent cannot help smiling back.

* * *

The Aces win, with no small amount of effort, and after Kent talks to the press and talks to his teammates and the coaches, he drives himself home and feeds Kit as soon as he gets back to his apartment. He then joins his cat on the kitchen floor and texts Carly, asking if she is still awake.

She calls him only a minute later. “What’s up?” she asks, her voice slow and rough.

“Were you asleep?” Kent asks. “You didn’t have to wake up –”

“Shut up,” Carly mumbles. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“Seriously, Carls –”

“Kent, I know when you’re avoiding something.”

“What – avoiding? What do you mean –?”

“Kent!” A pause. “I wasn’t asleep, if that helps.”

Kent sighs and takes a moment to watch Kit lick her lips. He swears, his cat is a daintier eater than the Queen of England. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

“Promise.”

“I need advice. About a guy.”

For a second, there is only silence on Carly’s end of the line – and then she bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

Kent’s neck burns. “You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Carly cries. “I just – oh, my God. Kent Parson is coming to me with _boy trouble_.”

“I cannot believe I thought you would be less unbearable than Louisa.”

“No, no, no, I can handle it,” Carly insists, and her laughter does subside. “What’s up?”

Kit finishes her dinner, and Kent pokes at her hip until she turns and climbs into his lap. “There’s … a guy,” he says hesitantly, “and I think I fucked things up.”

“That’s a great start.”

“I told him I was serious.”

“Are you?”

Kent bites his lip. “Yeah,” he whispers. “But I just … didn’t text him.”

Carly hums thoughtfully. “How long ago was that?”

“A few weeks.”

“As in … New Years?”

Kent’s muscles tense. “You know?” he manages to choke out.

“Nothing for sure. But you looked pretty close with that one dark-haired guy – the skinny guy with the nice shoulders?”

“He’s not _skinny_ ,” Kent immediately counters, and Carly laughs, causing Kent’s cheeks to flush. God, he is so fucking _gone_ on Eli.

“Is he mad at you or something?” Carly asks.

Kent shrugs, running his finger down Kit’s spine. She arches into his touch, a purr rumbling in her chest. “I don’t know,” Kent says quietly. “I watched the game with him today, from the box. He was nice.”

Carly sighs. “Kent, you need to grow a pair.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just stop worrying about it so much and talk to him. All right? Have an honest conversation about what you think of him and, if you want a relationship, what you want from that relationship.”

“But that’s hard,” Kent whines.

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Carly retorts, an edge of impatience in her tone, and she is right. Kent is acting like a child.

“You’re right,” Kent admits, and he can perfectly imagine Carly’s smug if sleepy smile.

“You know I am.”

* * *

They leave for another short roadie the next afternoon, and Kent cannot find Eli before the team heads to the airport for their flight. It is frustrating, that for the first time this month when he does not want an excuse to avoid Eli, fate decides to give Kent the opposite.

His team wins in Edmonton and loses in Calgary, and Kent returns to the lineup for a win in Vancouver before they return to Vegas. The instant they land, Kent grabs a taxi to the rink, and he is both relieved and terrified to find Eli sitting in his office.

Eli looks up when Kent shuts the door behind him. “Kent,” Eli says, more than a little surprised, and Kent opens his mouth to say something, his mind reeling with a thousand different thoughts and emotions –

Nothing comes out.

Eli raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the ghost of an amused smile. “Are you okay?” he asks, and Kent shakes his head.

“I’m such a fucking asshole,” Kent says.

Eli barks a laugh. “What did you do this time?”

Kent shakes his head again. “No, I didn’t – I’ve been such an asshole to _you_.”

Seriousness replaces the mirth in Eli’s expression. “Well,” he concedes, and Kent suppresses a wince.

Kent’s hands tighten into fists. “I didn’t mean to avoid you,” he forces himself to say, because now that he is finally being honest, he has got to get it all out. “I mean, I did, but not because I like you any less, or anything.”

Eli’s face is still impossibly hard to read. It is unsettling; Eli is a fairly expressive person, and Kent has gotten to know him pretty well over the years. Kent swallows and says, “I want to be with you. I’m just … I’m not ready to be dating. For everyone to see.”

Eli watches Kent for a few seconds, and Kent can only hear the rushing of his blood until Eli gestures for Kent to sit down. Kent takes the seat on the side of the desk opposite of Eli, running his damp palms on his pants and staring at his knees.

“My brother thinks I should forget about you,” Eli starts, and Kent winces, preparing for the worst. “But – I can’t.”

Kent hesitantly looks up, and Eli smiles a little when Kent meets his eyes. “If you’re the asshole,” Eli says, “which you aren’t, by the way – but if you were, then I’m the idiot.”

“So you’re not actually an idiot,” Kent ventures, and Eli laughs. The sound relaxes Kent, letting him loosen his shoulders.

“How about this,” Eli says. “The Casino Night next weekend – I’m going to be running the media accounts. I’ll take your plus-one placeholder out of the system, and we can spend some time together.”

It seems … safe. Both Kent and Eli have legitimate reason to be at the event, they will primarily be surrounded by friends, and it is not as overwhelming as an actual sit-down date.

“Okay,” Kent says, and when Eli smiles at him, Kent is finally relaxed enough to smile back fully.

* * *

The annual Aces Casino Night is always hectic; everyone with even the slightest personal connection to the Aces offices or team comes to the _Roma_ , and there are endless drinks and snacks and gambling tables. Kent has never been a big gambler, though his mother taught him to play Texas Hold ‘Em like a pro, so he is more than content to follow Eli as Eli shadows various Aces team and management members, taking photos and videos for the Aces Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter.

Romi and Kiki rope Kent into a couple rounds of blackjack, so Kent loses track of Eli for about half an hour, but once Kent excuses himself from the table, Eli almost instantly appears by his side.

“How’d you do that?” Kent asks, nudging Eli with his shoulder.

Eli leans into him. “Secret PR training,” he replies with a teasing smile, and Kent snorts. “Look at this.”

Eli holds out his phone. There is a photo on Instagram of Kent, Kiki, and Romi side-by-side at the blackjack table. Both Kent and Kiki look serious, while Romi has the goofiest smile on his face.

“You got my good angle,” Kent says.

Eli huffs. “All your angles are good angles,” he replies. “Frankly, it gets annoying.”

Kent grins. In the dimmed lighting, Eli’s skin looks invitingly bronze, and Kent wishes he could kiss Eli right now, or at least take his hand.

Eli notices Kent staring and raises an eyebrow in question. Kent moves away from the table a bit, and Eli follows at Kent’s shoulder, leaning in closer to catch it when Kent says quietly, “I want to kiss you.”

Eli exhales, a soft noise of mutual frustration. “Stay with me after this ends?” he offers, and Kent nods.

They do not leave the _Roma_ until 2 AM, and when Kent pulls into the parking garage of Eli’s apartment building after Eli, he is more than exhausted. He hardly registers his surroundings as Eli leads him up the stairs to Eli’s apartment, focusing instead on the pull of Eli’s jacket across Eli’s shoulders. As soon as Eli shuts his front door behind Kent, Kent drops his forehead onto Eli’s collarbone, yawning widely.

“Tired, huh?” Eli asks, and Kent makes a noise of assent. “Let’s go to bed.”

Eli pulls Kent to his bedroom, and they both undress. It has to be the least-sexy undressing Kent has had anywhere aside from the locker room in a while, and though Kent will eventually love to discover what makes Eli squirm and gasp and laugh in bed, for tonight, he is far too tired. When they are lying down, face to face, it suddenly occurs to Kent that he has yet to kiss Eli, so he cranes his neck and does just that. Eli’s hand comes up to caress the side of Kent’s neck, and it all feels so _nice_ , the warmth and softness that Kent never realized he had been yearning for all these years until this moment.

The kiss is not too long. Kent is straining to stay awake as Eli asks, “Was tonight okay?”

Kent nods. “Was great,” he mumbles before passing out, his fingers tangled with Eli’s.

* * *

**II.**

* * *

Louisa comes to Vegas at the very end of March. Louisa coming out to see Kent is a rare luxury; now that she is employed (his baby sister has an actual adult _job_ ), she does not get huge chunks of holiday time off, so she and Kent make the best of the odd day or two when Louisa can stop by.

The Aces have a game against the Lightning on the first night of Louisa’s visit, and Louisa watches the game from the press box. After the game – an OT victory for the Aces – Louisa comes down to the locker halls, and once Kent is through with press and has showered, he leaves the locker room to find Louisa talking to Eli.

Kent feigns nonchalance as he approaches his sister and sort-of boyfriend, even though his heart is going faster than it had been during OT. “Lou-Lou,” he says, throwing an arm around Louisa’s neck, and Louisa shoves at Kent.

“God, Kenny, stop calling me that,” Louisa says. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” Kent responds sweetly. He loosens his arm around Louisa. “You’ve met Eli?”

Louisa glances at Eli, who looks professional but still extremely good in his button-up shirt and slacks. “He tells me that you never dress appropriately for press events.”

Kent glares at Eli, and Eli laughs. “Come on, Kent, you know it’s true,” Eli says. “Even Kiki will wear a suit before you do.”

“He has a whole snapback collection,” Louisa says gleefully, and Kent groans dramatically.

“I wish you two had never met,” he gripes, and Louisa pokes his side.

Kent takes Louisa out to dinner, cheating his meal plan to eat juicy burgers at a family diner only a few blocks from Kent’s apartment. Afterwards, they go to Kent’s, and Louisa pops in a movie before the siblings settle down into the couch.

About halfway through the film Kent shifts and clears his throat. “What’d you think of Eli?” he asks, forcing his voice to stay steady.

“He’s chill,” Louisa says absently.

Kent swallows. “I really like him.”

“Cool,” his sister replies, completely absorbed in the movie.

But only ten seconds later, Louisa suddenly turns to Kent, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “You _really like him?_ ” she demands, and Kent rolls his eyes.

“Took you a while,” he says drily, and Louisa pounces on him, smacking his chest ineffectually.

“You absolute asshole, I had no fucking clue I was talking to your crush –”

Kent laughs, easily fending her off. “We’re not out about it.”

Louisa stops attacking him, blown away for the second time in the last minute. “He’s your _boyfriend?_ ”

Kent shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Is it really new?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want him to be your boyfriend?”

Sometimes, verbally committing to an already known truth can be the hardest thing in the world. “Yeah,” Kent mumbles.

Louisa throws her arms around him, and Kent hugs his little sister tighter than he has in a long time. “I’ll kick his butt if he hurts you,” she promises, and Kent laughs.

* * *

They lose.

They lose in the first round of the playoffs in overtime of game seven at home against the _Canes_ , what the fuck, and Kent is not the only one crying in the locker room. Romi’s play-off beard has never looked so sad, and Lieberenz has these great big honking sniffles that would be comedic in any situation other than this one.

The coaches say a few words, and so does Kent, but other than that, they are mostly silent. Kent showers and cleans up and dresses again through muscle memory and then wanders through the tunnels of their arena for a while. Once enough time has passed that most of the spectators and hopefully the Canes have gone, Kent makes his way to the rink, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

The lights are still on. Arena staff are on the ice, sweeping up confetti and various other celebration debris; on the other side of the ice, Kent can see Charles, their zamboni driver, leaning against his zamboni as he waits for the ice to be cleared. Charles looks almost as sad as Kent feels, and it is enough to make Kent’s eyes sting with the threat of tears.

“Kent?”

Kent tenses. He recognizes Eli’s voice, but he does not turn around. He needs to be alone. He has to be alone, whenever he loses and he knows if he just might have done more –

A hand lands on Kent’s shoulder, and Kent flinches. Eli comes around to Kent’s side, trying to make eye contact with Kent, but Kent does not let him. “Kent, it’s going to be okay –”

“Don’t,” Kent says, shaking his head. He knows himself too well – he is liable to explode at any moment, and he does not want to explode at Eli, not when things between them are so fragile and new.

“You all fought hard –”

“Eli, please, just leave –”

Eli pulls his arm even tighter around Kent, and it is too much – Kent wants to squirm, he wants Eli to stop talking to him and to _stop touching him_ so much –

“Kent –”

“I said, please just _fucking leave_ , all right, Eli?” Kent snaps, jerking himself away. Relief washes through him once he is no longer in contact with Eli, but he is still angry and bitter and _they still lost_ , they lost any hope of the Stanley yet again, so when Eli looks shocked and hurt, when Eli takes a step back, his fingers fluttering uselessly at his sides, Kent says nothing. Kent glares at a point a few feet to the right of Eli’s shoulder.

It seems like the silence between them will never end, but eventually Eli licks his lips and says, “All right.”

His tone is hard in a way that is trying to mask hurt, and Kent knows that in a day or two, he will hate himself for what he has just done, but for now, Kent turns back to the ice, staring at the confetti that, ironically, is colored in a way that would work for the Aces or the Hurricanes. He listens to Eli’s shoes striking the concrete floor until he is straining to hear the sound, and then can hear it no more.

* * *

Kent, as usual, is right – two days later, he does hate himself. When he is not working out ( _fuck_ the idea of needing time to rest and recuperate, Kent wants another fucking Stanley), he is either showering or curled up on his bed, on top of the covers but wrapped up in blankets with Kit somewhere nearby.

Here is the stupid thing: Kent does not even have Eli’s number. He kind of took it for granted that he could just stop by Eli’s office whenever he wanted to talk, and honestly, Kent did not expect their season to end this early. He imagined a large celebration, during which he and Eli could slip away for a moment, and maybe, with a trophy in his hands, Kent would feel brave enough to show the world another side of him: the softer side, the side that wanted laughter and affection and somebody to love.

There is a knock on his front door, and Kent groans, pushing his face into his pillow. Maybe whoever it is will go away.

Not even a minute later, the knock comes again.

Kent sighs and pushes himself up with his arms. Kit meows in protest when she is thrown from Kent’s back, and Kent says, “Oh, stop it.”

He trudges to the front door, opens it, and almost immediately closes it when he sees it is Eli.

“Hi,” Kent says, feeling inadequate and embarrassed.

Eli nods. He is dressed down, compared to how Kent usually sees him, a pair of dark jeans and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He does not say anything, so Kent ventures to ask, “How did you find me?”

Eli lets out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing his left bicep with his right hand. “I might have abused the resources of my office,” he admits.

Kent grins slightly and opens the door wide enough to let Eli in.

Eli wanders into the living room. He sees Kit, who must have followed Kent out of his bedroom, and crouches down to extend his hand to her. Kit sniffs Eli’s hand and then pushes her head against it.

Even Kent’s goddamn cat cannot say no to Eli.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says to Eli’s back.

Eli sits down on the floor and looks back at Kent even as Kit climbs into his lap. “I forgive you,” he says sincerely, and Kent takes that as an invitation to sit down next to Eli. He sits close enough that his arm is pressed right along Eli’s, and sue him – Kent wants some comfort.

He needs comfort, if he is going to choke out some explanations.

“I hate losing.”

Eli glances at him, then nods and looks down at Kit.

“I –” Kent licks his lips. “My sister says I have stages of grief that specifically apply to losing important games.”

Kent can just see the corner of Eli’s smile. He is glad that Eli is not staring at him, that Eli is not talking, and it suddenly strikes Kent that Eli might understand Kent better than Kent thought he did.

“I always need a few days,” Kent says. “A few days to be … I don’t know. Just. Angry. Alone.”

Eli nods.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” Kent says. He feels like he is going to be saying that a lot, in this relationship. “I just … I really hate being touched.”

Eli looks down at Kent’s arm, how it is all pressed up against Eli’s, and raises an eyebrow at Kent. There is some mirth in his expression, so Kent lets himself grin and shakes his head. “Not, like, _now_ ,” he says.

Kent wants to explain the strange revulsion he has to touch when he has just lost, wants to explain that it is not Eli, that Kent has always been like that, even back in the Q, even back in squirts when his mother would try to ruffle his hair and Kent would hide in his closet to escape her comforting.

He cannot quite find the words, though, so he is relieved when Eli finally speaks. “Is this okay, then?” he asks.

He slides his arm around Kent’s shoulder, his hand curling so his thumb rests at the base of Kent’s neck, and Kent nods. Kent shifts to be closer, hooking one of his legs over Eli’s. “I like it,” Kent admits softly.

Eli nudges Kent’s chin up. They are nose-to-nose; Kent nearly goes cross-eyed to look into Eli’s eyes. Eli presses forward to briefly kiss Kent. For a breath, they both sit still; then Kent kisses Eli in earnest, and it is all he can do to keep from shaking apart, sitting on his living room floor as he kisses a man who is worth so much more than Kent ever has been.

* * *

When Kent gets back from working out a few mornings later, the last thing he expects is for Carly to be sitting outside of his apartment, her back against his front door. “Carly?” he asks, pulling out his keys. “Are you all right?”

Carly looks at him, but it seems a half-second too slow. “Yeah,” she says, blinking and then standing up. Kent notices she is holding a plastic bag when he hears it crinkle. “I guessed you were working out.”

Carly looks pale and shaken, but her voice is perfectly level, so Kent does not say anything as he lets her into his apartment. She takes off her shoes and beelines to the bathroom, and, for a moment, Kent looks after her. Then he shakes his head and goes to the kitchen, looking for some food or his cat, which ever he gets to first.

He has chicken and pasta leftovers heating in the microwave as he teases Kit with one of her toys when the bathroom door opens again. Kent looks up, concerned; Carly just stands in the doorway, the plastic bag balled up in her fist.

“Carls?” he asks tentatively.

“If there is a five percent chance of these being wrong,” Carly says, “What’s the likelihood of sixteen out of seventeen being wrong?”

Kent drops Kit’s toy and straightens up. “I don’t quite follow,” he says, “Also, I’m shit at math, anyway.”

Carly disappears into the bathroom again, and Kent can hear the sound of small plastic objects being shoveled into a bag – and _shit_ , Kent has a strong suspicion of what this might be.

Carly reemerges and comes to the kitchen. Her plastic bag is full again, and when Kent looks in, his guess is confirmed: before his eyes are sixteen positive pregnancy tests.

Kent looks at Carly. She looks calmer than she was just minutes ago outside of Kent’s door, and sometimes, Kent wonders how the _hell_ Carly is so chill. If Kent had just found out there was a small human growing inside of him, he would probably be in hysterics.

“Are you okay?” Kent asks, for lack of anything better coming to mind.

Carly shrugs and pulls her bag back to herself. She ties the handles of the bag together and says, “I’ve suspected it for a while.”

“It’s Sandro’s?”

“Yeah.”

Kent nods and wets his lips. Is it too early to ask her if she wants a baby right now? _Yes_ , says a small part of Kent’s mind, _you should not ask_ , but his stupid mouth is already moving. “Are you going to keep it?”

Carly looks at him, making eye contact for the first time, and any traces of shaking have disappeared. “Yes,” she says, her eyes sharp. “It’s my kid. I’m going to keep it.”

She says it like she expects Kent to argue with her, and God, Kent does not want to fight Carly. Not on this; not when Carly has already made her mind up, and not when she needs as many people as possible to be in her corner.

Instead of arguing, Kent opens his arms. “Can I hug you?” he asks.

Carly nods, stepping forward and burying her face in his chest, and Kent holds onto her as tightly as he can, hoping he is conveying all the love and support he has for her in his embrace.

* * *

Carly ends up spending the night at Kent’s place; she falls asleep with her head pillowed on his lap as they are watching a movie, and Kent does not have the heart to wake her. He wakes in the morning still sitting up on the couch, an awful ache in his neck and his right foot asleep. Blinking and running his tongue over his sticky teeth, Kent cranes his neck to see Carly in the kitchen.

When he walks over, Carly sets down two plates of eggs and toast at the counter. “Coffee should be ready,” she says, and Kent obligingly shuffles over to the pot.

“You didn’t have to,” Kent says as he pours out two mugs.

“I was hungry,” Carly retorts. “I only made something for you, too, because I decided to be nice.”

Kent grins, bringing over the coffee and kissing Carly’s temple.

They eat breakfast in relative silence, and then Kent drives Carly to her building. He offers to walk her up, but Carly rolls her eyes. “Don’t start coddling me _now_ ,” she says, and Kent grins. Carly is still Carly.

He still watches her enter the building, though, and he is about to shift into drive when he phone buzzes. It is a text from –

_Scott Henderson?_

Kent opens it with a frown. He has not heard from Henders in ages; what could his ex-teammate possibly want to talk about?

It is a picture. Henders is still with the Islanders, who just missed the wild card this year, so it is no surprise to Kent that Henders is already on a beach somewhere tropical. What is a surprise is that 1) Henders figured out how to take a selfie without one of his fingers covering half of the camera and 2) there is another man in the photo.

The man is short and dark-haired with deeply tanned skin. He has an arm around Henders’s bare waist and is kissing Hender’s cheek, and for a moment, Kent is captivated by that easy press of lips, forever captured in these pixels.

A second text buzzes, and Kent drags his eyes away from the photo. _I found him_ , it reads, and Kent’s chest swells painfully.

 _Congrats, man_ , Kent texts back. His chest still hurts, but it is a good hurting, a happy hurting – Henders has found someone.

Maybe there is some hope in this world, even for gay athletes.

* * *

**III.**

* * *

Southern California has an even weirder vibe than Las Vegas, which means that either SoCal is hella weird, or maybe Kent is just too used to Vegas. Kiki takes Kent to LA, to Hollywood, to the Orange County, to every single tourist hotspot within a hundred mile radius of Kiki’s house.

It is nice, to simply chill and hang out with a friend. They work out – of course they do – but they also go to the beach or see movies or go on hikes. And fate, destiny, God, _something_ has to be fucking around with Kent’s life, because on one hike, they run into the very last person Kent expected.

It has been so long that Kent does not even recognize the other man – not until he tilts his head to the side, shielding his eyes with his hand, and asks, “Kent?”

Kent freezes in his tracks and then breaks into a smile. “Shawty!”

Shawty opens his arms for a hug, and _damn_ , Shawty is even more built than he was when he was in the NHL. Kent smacks his back a few times before pulling back, and it is only then that he realizes Shawty is not alone.

“Kent, this is my wife, Marissa,” Shawty says. “Marissa, this is Kent Parson.”

Kent shakes Marissa’s hand. She has to be at least a foot shorter than Shawty. “It’s nice to meet you, Kent,” she says. “Matt watches all of your games.”

“Marissa,” Shawty says, a bit exasperated, but he is still smiling at his wife.

“Well, if you have been watching us,” Kent says, “you’ve seen my friend play. Marissa, Shaw– _Matt_. This is Kian Killam.”

“Call me Kiki,” Kiki says with a wink, and Kent smacks Kiki’s arm.

“Quit flirting with everyone.”

Shawty smiles. “Why are you out here?”

Kent shrugs. “Kiki invited me out for a bit,” he says. “I think he gets lonely in the off-season.”

“Please, Parse, I was going _you_ a favor. You don’t get out enough.”

“Oh!” Marissa says, eyes going wide. “What you did, last year – coming out. That was incredibly brave of you.”

Kent blinks. It has been a while since anyone has brought that up to his face, so it takes him an extra second to say, “Oh. Thank you.”

Shawty nods. “We’re really proud of you,” he tells Kent. “It’s huge, just – I mean. I had teammates, in college, who wouldn’t come out. Seeing you, seeing Zimmermann …  it’s going to help those kids, you know.”

Kent has heard this all before, but for some reason, coming from Shawty – one of the people whom Kent once had a _crush_ on, God – it hits Kent harder, right in the chest. “I hope it does,” Kent says.

Shawty smiles, and his dimples are as strong as they ever were, but now they trigger a different response in Kent: fondness, instead of desire.

It is a change that Kent is happy to live with.

* * *

That night, Kiki goes off to explore a bar or two in the city, but Kent opts to stay in. He flips TV channels for a couple hours, finds nothing interesting, and ends up lying in bed by eleven, the lights out and his shades halfway drawn. Before he really even realizes what he is doing, he has his cell phone pressed to his ear and is listening to the line ring.

“Hello? Kent?”

“Eli,” Kent says. Suddenly his mind is racing; why did he call Eli? Well, to hear Eli’s voice, for one, but now what is Kent supposed to do? What should he say?

“Everything all right?”

“What? Yeah, yeah. It’s great. Kiki is out.”

Eli hums. “Just wanted to call, then?”

Kent swallows. “Do you remember Matthew Short?”

“‘Course I do.”

“We ran into him today.”

“That’s awesome. How is he?”

“Looking great. Has a wife.”

“Good for him.”

Kent takes a deep breath. “I used to have a huge crush on him,” he admits quickly.

For a second, Eli does not respond – mostly from shock, Kent thinks. Then he laughs and asks, “Was that uncomfortable?”

Kent also grins, his shoulders and neck relaxing. He had not realized he had tensed up. “Not really,” Kent says. “That was years ago. My second year on the team, actually.”

“No way.”

“What?”

“That’s the year I met Jules.”

“Jules?”

“One of my exes.”

Kent bites his tongue. He is torn between wanting to know about Eli’s past relationships and wanting to know nothing at all. On the one hand, Kent reasons, does it matter at all whom Eli has dated in the past? But at the same time, any past relationships must have shaped Eli into the man he is today. Kent knows that he would not be the same if he had never been with Jack or Jessie or any of the other number of one-night stands Kent has had since realizing he was gay.

“Tell me about Jules,” Kent says before he can change his mind.

“What?”

“Jules.”

Kent hears Eli inhale deeply. “Are you sure?”

Kent shrugs a shoulder, though he knows that Eli cannot see him. “I want to know you.”

For a few heartbeats, the other end of the line is silent as Eli contemplates; then, Eli says, “All right.”

They talk until far past midnight, that night. Actually, Eli does more of the talking. Kent is not the best at expressing his emotions – he knows that. But lying there in the dark, with his cellphone pressed to his ear and the easy cadence of Eli’s voice on the other end of the line, Kent feels comfortable.

Every day, Kent is more comfortable, and that makes him feel brave.

* * *

The day he gets back to Vegas, Kent calls Eli the moment his flight lands. “Come over for dinner tonight,” he says as soon as Eli greets him.

“Didn’t you just get back?” Eli asks.

“Yeah. So?”

“Kent. Do you have anything in your fridge?”

Kent stops in his tracks, nearly causing a collision with the person walking behind him in the airport terminal. “Uh. No, actually.”

Eli laughs. “I can swing by a grocery store before coming over –”

“No, I don’t want to make you do that.”

“Then – delivery? Chinese, pizza?”

“You’re fine with pizza?”

“Pizza is great.”

Kent grins. “Awesome.”

* * *

Kent times it rather perfectly, if he says so himself – Eli knocks only three minutes after the pizza has been delivered and paid for. He is wearing jeans and a Colby sweatshirt, his dark hair still damp from a shower, and Kent already wants to kiss him.

Instead, he lets Eli in, and Kit immediately comes prancing over. “You’re the first person she’s immediately taken to,” Kent says, still amazed at that fact.

Eli laughs, scratching Kit’s head as her tail curls around his ankles.

They eat dinner in front of the TV, watching whatever movie Eli put in. Kent has never had the patience for movies, and tonight, when he has the choice between watching a movie and watching Eli, there is no question about which one Kent chooses.

About an hour and a half has passed when Eli slides his gaze over to Kent. “Kent,” he says, “can you even tell me the name of the main character?”

“No,” Kent responds, immediate and honest.

Eli sighs. “You’re impossible.”

“Nooo, don’t be mad,” Kent says, leaning over so he can prop his chin on Eli’s shoulder. “I’m just not a movie person.”

“Really? Is that all?”

There is a suggestive undercurrent in Eli’s tone, and Kent grins as he raises his head enough to whisper into Eli’s ear:

“Come to bed with me.”

For the first time in a long, long time, it feels like more than just fucking.

* * *

Kent wakes to the sound of Kit meowing at his bedroom door. With a soft groan, Kent sits up, causing Eli’s arm to fall from Kent’s chest to his hips. Eli is still sound asleep, so Kent quietly leaves the bed without waking him, pulling on his boxers before he leaves the bedroom.

Once Kent has fed his cat, he crawls back into the bed and lines himself up over Eli. “Eli,” he says quietly and kisses the other man’s lips.

As expected, Eli is still dead to the world, so Kent slowly starts making his way down Eli’s body, trailing kisses from Eli’s chin to his neck to his chest and his stomach. Eli still has a runner’s body, slender but toned and lean, and it is when Kent’s lips are just above Eli’s belly button that Eli finally stirs and wakes. He blinks down at Kent, expression still bleary and sleep-softened, and Kent grins, resting his chin on Eli’s stomach. “Good morning,” Kent says.

A grin slowly spreads across Eli’s face. “Come here,” he says, and Kent obliges. They both have morning breath, but Kent does not even care. It is a lazy Sunday morning and Kent is kissing his sort-of boyfriend in his own bed. The Kent from a few years ago never would have believed this could be possible.

“Your hair is a mess,” Eli says when they pull apart.

He pushes his fingers through aforementioned hair, and Kent smirks. “You seem to like it.”

“Don’t want to stroke your ego, do I?”

Kent makes breakfast while Eli takes a shower. Eli finishes just before Kent does, so by the time Kent is carrying breakfast plates over to his terribly under-used kitchen table, Eli is sitting in the window sill and meowing at Kit.

Kent bites back a grin and quietly sets down his plates before slipping out his phone and taking a photo. It is a good photo – Eli, smiling down at Kit, stands out with his dark hair and bronze skin against the white walls of Kent’s apartment, and Kit is more of a shadow when she is backlit the way she is by the rising sun.

Eli notices him, then, and leaves the window to grab his mug of coffee. “What are you smiling about?”

“Can this go on my Instagram?” Kent asks, holding out his phone.

“You mean your cat’s Instagram,” Eli corrects, because it is true – Kent himself does not actually have an account. Eli leans against Kent’s shoulder and nods. “Go for it.”

Kent smiles, and Eli kisses his cheek.

* * *

Three days later, Kent gets a package in the mail from an address in Providence. Inside is what appears to be an apple pie. It _is_ apple pie, but it also has some extra ingredient in it that makes Kent’s mouth feel like it is on fire.

After downing a glass of water, Kent looks back into the box and finds a note written in unfamiliar handwriting. _Jack says congratulations_ , it reads, and _oh_. Of course. The baker.

The pie might be spicy, but it still tastes sinfully good, so Kent eats the whole damn thing.

* * *

**IV.**

* * *

There are two weeks until the wedding when Louisa calls up Kent and says, without preamble, “You need a new suit.”

“What?” Kent asks and takes a bite out of his apple.

“For the wedding,” Louisa replies. “Mom and I were going through your team’s Instagram, and we realized that you don’t have any summer suits.”

Kent grins. “Summer suits aren’t just bathing suits?”

“You aren’t funny,” Louisa deadpans. 

Kent can imagine her unamused glower. He remains amused for the rest of their call, until he hangs up and realizes he now has to buy a new suit.

* * *

He takes Eli with him, and Eli only agrees because Kent declares that Eli is the best-dressed man Kent talks to on the regular and then threatens that Romi is his second-best choice.

“You are one manipulative bastard,” Eli tells Kent as they walk into the dressing room.

“Says the only person in PR who can ever convince me to do things.”

Kent hates clothes shopping, preferring his tanks tops and flannels and snapbacks to anything else, but Eli makes this trip bearable. They are in the dressing room of their second store and Kent is trying on the fourth suit when Kent asks, “How are you so good at suit shopping?”

“You’d be surprised by the number of your teammates I’ve already done this for,” Eli replies from outside the changing stall.

Kent laughs shortly. “Who?”

“Kiki. Henders. Lieberenz. Romi, even, for his wedding suit.”

“Did you go to his wedding?” Kent asks and exits the changing stall.

Eli is already waiting with a tie in his hands. “I was invited,” he says, “but my family and I already had plans for a trip to Banff.”

“How was Banff?”

“Gorgeous,” Eli replies. He loops the tie, a soft lavender color, around Kent’s neck and begins to weave it into a knot far too complex for Kent to ever do himself. “We went in the summer, though. And I’m sure it looks just as good in the winter, but all that snow – too much for me. I think that’s why I loved Virginia, so much, when I visited in January …”

Eli keeps talking, but Kent loses track of the actual words, suddenly overwhelmed by several sensations at once: the soft brush of Eli’s fingers against his neck, the vibrations of Eli’s voice, the warmth that fills Kent’s entire being, from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. Before Kent even has time to reconsider and think things through rationally, he blurts, “Will you go with me?”

Eli’s fingers freeze, his eyes darting up to Kent’s as he raises an eyebrow. “Where, to Virginia? To Banff?”

“No. The wedding.”

Eli looks surprised. “You – like. Your mother’s wedding.”

Kent shrugs, fighting the rising color in his cheeks. “I want you to meet everyone,” he says, looking at some point beyond Eli’s shoulder.

Eli’s fingers press into Kent’s jaw, gently forcing Kent to make eye contact with Eli. “I’d love to,” Eli says, and Kent is glad the dressing rooms are empty, because then he does not have to resist his immediate desire: to kiss Eli as sweetly as possible.

* * *

Two days later, Kent invites Carly and Sandro out for lunch. They meet up at a large Mexican restaurant, where the noise is so loud that only someone within five feet of their table could hear their conversation.

Kent takes a huge bite out of his burrito right as Carly says, “We’ve decided to keep the kid.”

Kent nearly chokes trying to chew and swallow quickly. “Jesus, Carls, I just took a bite,” he says, and Carly rolls her eyes as Sandro gives Kent a sympathetic look.

“You can make it work?” Kent asks.

Carly looks at Sandro, who lifts a hand and rests it at the nape of her neck. “I have up to eight months of maternity leave from the clinic,” Carly says.

“And I determine my own hours,” Sandro continues. “So we’ll be able to.”

The couple looks at each other again, Carly positively glowing and Sandro looking no less happy, and something tugs at Kent’s gut. Once upon a time, that feeling might have been jealousy, but now, Kent only feels happy for them. The people he loves are in love.

“When are you leaving for your mother’s wedding?” Carly asks.

Kent draws himself back to the present. “Eight days.” He takes a drink of his water, then adds quietly, “I’m taking Eli with me.”

Carly’s eyes light up. “ _Kent_. He’s going to meet your family?”

Kent shifts his weight. “Technically, he’s met them before. And he saw Louisa again only a couple months ago.”

“Yeah, but he’s never met them as … you know.”

Underneath the table, Carly’s foot knocks against Kent’s ankle, and Kent smiles. “Yeah,” he says, embarrassingly breathless, “I know.”

* * *

Kent spends the entire trip from Vegas to New York with his snapback pulled low over his face and his hood up with the intent of avoiding recognition, so when he rings the doorbell of his mother’s house with Eli at his back, it is an utter relief to twist his hat backwards again and shuck off his sweatshirt. Eli squeezes Kent’s shoulder, and Kent shoots him a crooked smile.

It takes his mother only a moment to get to the door. “Kenny!” she immediately cries, reaching her arms around her son’s neck, and Kent gives his mother as tight a hug as possible.

“Hi, Mom.”

His mother pulls away to get a proper look at Kent. “You look so tan!” she exclaims, and Kent rolls his eyes. The Parsons do not tan – they _burn_ , alarmingly quickly, and Kent’s mother knows that.

“Mom,” Kent says, turning to send a reassuring smile to Eli, “This is Eli. My boyfriend.”

Eli breaks into a fond grin, and Kent’s mother is instantly all over Eli, giving him a hug and beckoning him inside. It makes Kent indescribably happy, to see his mother immediately take to Eli, and Eli seems as charmed by Kent’s mother as she is by him. As Eli is brought into the kitchen with the promise of cold lemonade, Kent carries their bags to the guest room, the slightest bounce detectable in his step. God, Kent almost feels _giddy_. To think that, against all odds, he has reached a point in his life when he can bring a man to his mother’s wedding and call him a legitimate _date_.

Kent and Eli are only the first of many family members to arrive at Kent’s mother’s home. The next to pull up in the driveway are Louisa and Thad, after their long drive from Hartford, Connecticut, and they are shortly followed by two of Kent’s aunts and their families. Along with Aunt Josie comes Kent’s maternal grandmother, who is the origin of Kent’s short genes.

“Kent, my dear,” Grandma Evelyn says once she has met Eli, “I need to have a word with you about that _boyfriend_.”

They are alone in the hallway connecting the kitchen and living area to the downstairs bedrooms, and Kent freezes, feeling positively cornered by his under-five-feet grandmother. “What about him?” Kent asks guardedly.

“Why have I not heard about him until now?” Grandma Evelyn demands, and relief rushes through Kent until his cheek falls prey to his grandmother’s pinching fingers. “That boy is a delight!”

“I know, Grandma,” Kent replies. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right, you’re sorry.”

Later that night, when Kent finally joins Eli under the covers of the guest room bed, he recounts the interaction to Eli, and Eli laughs, though a bit sadly.

“Your family is incredible,” Eli says softly.

Kent reaches out to splay his hand over the center of Eli’s bare chest. They are both lying on their sides, the small space between them slowly warming with their body heat. “What’s your family like?” Kent asks.

Eli shakes his head. “Not like yours.”

Kent furrows his brow, uncertain if he should pursue that thought, but Eli must see something in Kent’s expression, because he shakes his head again. “Not tonight,” he says, and Kent nods.

“Okay.”

Suddenly Eli pushes Kent flat onto his back and shifts to straddle Kent’s hips. Kent’s heartbeat picks up. “You don’t mind that my mother is down the hall?” he asks.

Eli runs his hand from Kent’s stomach to his chest and neck, ending with his thumb pushing at the underside of Kent’s jaw. “Do _you_ mind?” he counters, his voice pitched low.

Kent grins. “Come here,” he says by way of answering, reaching up to pull Eli down, but he hardly has to try; Eli is already leaning down to kiss Kent deeply.

* * *

The ceremony is at the church where Kent once went to Sunday school. Kent’s mother looks gorgeous, floating down the aisle with Grandma Evelyn on her arm, and Kent is pleased to see that Clark has to wipe away a few tears. Kent is sure his biological father never shed a tear for Kent’s mother.

After the ceremony, they return to the Parson home. Though Kent’s mother had once complained that the house Kent bought for her had a backyard that was much too large, it now makes for a perfect reception venue. There is wood paneling laid out for a dance floor, over which fairy lights are strung from poles, and a white tent covers a dinning area. Kent might not have much of an eye for decorating, but even he knows this looks exceptionally nice.

During dinner, Kent finds himself at the same table as his mother and Clark, Louisa and Thad, Eli, Grandma Evelyn, and the Zimmermanns. Juniors was such a blur of _hockey-Jack-hockey_ for Kent that he sometimes forgets that his mother became very close friends with the Zimmermanns. He knows that, over the years, they have kept in touch, and Kent himself has sporadically talked to Bob and Alicia even when he was not really talking to Jack. Despite everything that has gone on between Jack and Kent, the Zimmermanns have been nothing but supportive to Kent and his family, and Kent figures he will forever be indebted to them for that.

When the dancing starts, Kent’s grandmother immediately claims Eli, and Kent watches them head to the dance floor with a smile on his face. He grabs a drink from the bar and takes a seat at an unoccupied table that is a bit further removed from everything, wanting a few minutes to himself.

“I don’t know why they think you’re the partying type.”

Kent turns as Jack pulls out the seat next to Kent. “The media is full of shit,” he replies, and Jack smiles, half-amused yet half-bitter. Jack knows, better than anyone, how full of shit the media can be.

Jack has a plastic bottle of water with him, which deeply amuses Kent. Hydration is key, even in the off-season, and if some things about a person never change – well, for Jack, it is that everything he does centers around hockey.

“Where’s Eric?” Kent asks.

“Eric?” Jack asks, and then says, “Oh. Bittle. He’s with my parents, I think.”

Kent nods. “I don’t know if he was trying to kill me with that jalapeño pie, or whatever,” he says, “but it tasted hella good anyway.”

Jack grins. “He’s never baked a bad pie.”

There is a pause, and Kent rotates the glass of champagne between his fingers. The golden liquid glides up and down the side of the glass in a mesmerizing pattern.

“Are you okay?”

Kent looks up, surprised. “What?” he replies automatically. “Why do you ask?”

Jack levels him with an unimpressed, blank expression, and _oh_. Right. It has been years since the Q, but they can still read each other more easily than a book. Kent heaves a sigh, looking back out at the dance floor. Eli and Grandma Evelyn are rocking back and forth, her cheek leaned against Eli’s chest, but it does not look like Eli minds in the slightest.

“Is it him?”

“ _No_ ,” Kent says. “No, he’s … he’s everything. He’s too good for me.”

“Parse –”

“No, Zimms. Really.”

Jack does not argue, though Kent can see he wants to. “So what’s up?” he asks instead.

Kent takes a drink. “I want to give him everything,” he says bitterly, “but I’m not ready. And I want to _be_ ready, but I’m just – not.”

Jack leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and picking at the label of his water bottle. “Sometimes you just have to wait,” he says. “Rushing things – it’s not –” Jack cuts himself off and considers for a moment before finishing with, “Sometimes waiting for the right time. It works.”

“Really,” Kent drawls skeptically.

He is not ready for the intensity of Jack’s answering stare. “I’m _here_ , aren’t I?” he asks quietly, and _God_ , Kent is such a fucking asshole. It is like for a few seconds, he had forgot all of Jack’s fucked-up mental state when they were teenagers.

“Sorry,” he says, and Jack backs off a little.

“It’s fine.”

Eric reappears in the tent from God-knows-where, and Jack notices him at the exact same time as Kent does. Kent gets to watch, firsthand, the way that Jack’s expression immediately softens and his lips curl into the ghost of a smile when he sees Eric.

“You waited for Eric, didn’t you?”

Jack turns towards Kent again, but his eyes are focused on some past memory. “In a way,” he says and then focuses on Kent. “If he’s making you happy, there’s no need to rush things, eh?”

Jack has always been one of the most sincere people Kent has met. It is something Kent took for granted until he was launched into the world beyond the Q, and now, being faced with all that sincerity again, Kent has a weird urge to throw himself at Jack and wrap him in a hug, but he successfully squashes it. There are already so many emotions splashing all over the place, so Kent does what he usually does when he thinks he might start expressing feelings: he cracks a joke.

“Never would’ve guessed you were going to be a sage old wise man, Zimms.”

Jack snorts, shaking his head. “No wiser than you are,” he says, opening his water bottle to take a drink.

Kent does not reply, and Jack does not feel a need to speak more, so they simply sit, observing the party before them.

It is the most content, peaceful silence Kent can remember ever sharing with Jack.

* * *

It is close to midnight when Kent finds himself alone again, finally through with catching up with relatives he has not seen in years. In between conversations, he was able to share a couple dances with Eli – neither of them are above-average dancers – but Kent lost track of him about half an hour ago, so he resigns himself to sitting at one of the deserted folding chairs at the uncovered end of the dance floor. He is half-hidden in shadow, and when he looks up, he can see the stars.

The last person he expects to approach him is the baker.

Eric Bittle stumbles across the dance floor and drops himself into the seat next to Kent. Between the flush high in his cheeks and his unsteady feet, Kent can tell Eric has had a decent amount to drink tonight.

“You’re Kent Parson,” Eric says, almost like an accusation. Kent is not sure whether to be worried or amused.

“You’re Eric Bittle,” he responds, and Eric narrows his eyes.

“You came to the Haus once. Jack’s last year.”

Okay, Eric’s first words had _definitely_ been an accusation. “I did,” Kent replies, uncertain if he wants to see this play out.

For a few seconds, Eric just glares, swaying a bit in his seat. He is perfectly in time with the music, actually, which faintly amuses Kent. When he finally speaks, he says, “I used to hate you.”

“Implying you don’t hate me now,” Kent says flippantly, though, to be honest, it stings, a little. Kent does not particularly care if people hate him, but for some reason – no, not some reason. Because Eric matters to _Jack_ , it matters if Eric hates Kent.

“I don’t know if I hate you now,” Eric replies, his vowels long with his Southern drawl.

Kent tries to imagine what he must look like to Eric. It is a fairly dismal imagine, and though Kent and Jack are amicable once more, it is not like Eric has been witness to that.

“You really did a number on Jack, coming back like that,” Eric says.

Kent crosses his arms and sinks further in his seat. “I know,” he admits uncertainly, “But – look –” Kent sighs. “I don’t know. I can’t say anything that’ll help. But me and Jack, we’re better now, okay? We’ve learned how to sort things out.”

Eric nods earnestly in agreement. “He made me send you a pie when you found that boy.”

“Thanks for that. My mouth was on fire for a week.”

“I told you. I don’t know if I still hate you.”

Kent snorts, and Eric smiles, leading Kent to think that maybe, they could end up being friends.

“Bittle!”

Both Eric and Kent turn to see Jack approaching them. Jack comes right up to Eric’s side and leans down to kiss Eric’s temple as Eric hooks a finger through one of Jack’s belt loops. “Where have _you_ been, Mr. Zimmermann?” Eric asks, aiming for coy but just sounding ridiculous.

“ _J’étais avec Mamon_.”

Eric frowns, and Jack laughs quietly. “You’re drunk,” Jack says.

“Your _québécois_ is drunk.”

Jack glances at Kent, and Kent smiles crookedly. Kent knows, rationally, that the Kent and Jack of now are very different from the teenage Kent and Jack, but he still cannot help comparing how Jack is with Eric versus how Jack was with Kent. Some of the things are still the same – Jack’s dorkiness, his taciturnity, his need to touch and touch and touch – but there is a different type of ease and gentleness in the way Jack fits with Eric.

“We have an early flight,” Jack reminds Eric, and Eric sighs.

“We must leave you, Kent Parson,” Eric says dramatically. He reaches his arms up, and Jack pulls Eric from his seat, easily drawing Eric into his side when Eric stumbles and nearly pitches over with his momentum. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Kent smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kent looks at Jack, who smiles at him, and Kent nods back. “Travel safely,” Kent says, and when Jack holds out a hand, Kent squeezes it briefly before watching them go.

* * *

Shortly after Jack and Eric leave, Kent finds Eli, and they both return to the house to change out of their suits and turn into bed. They make out for a while, but Kent is exhausted after so many hours of socializing, and Eli seems to get that; he does not try to escalate things, and when Kent pulls away, Eli lets him.

Kent rolls off of Eli’s lap and settles into his side, draping his arm across Eli’s stomach. “You’re here,” Kent says, wanting to say thank you but uncertain how.

Eli chuckles, and Kent can feel Eli’s chest shaking underneath his cheek. “How observant of you.”

Kent responds by kissing Eli’s side.

For a minute or two, they lie in easy silence. The constant pressure of Eli’s hand rubbing up and down Kent’s arm is somnolent, and Kent is on the verge of falling asleep when Eli says, “I don’t really talk to my parents.”

Kent holds still, though he is instantly awake again. “Didn’t you just go to Canada with them?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t fun, though.”

“Oh.”

“I mostly went for my brother.”

Kent reaches out and runs the tip of his finger across Eli’s collarbone. “Tell me about your brother,” he says.

From his peripherals, Kent can see Eli smile. “His name is Ricardo,” Eli says. “He’s older than me, six years. Used to be in the military.” A pause. “He played hockey in college, actually.”

“Where is he now?”

“Northern California. He works on the ranch of one of his old army buddies.”

“Does he still think I’m the worst?” Kent asks jokingly, even though he really wants to know what Ricardo Jones thinks of him.

Eli laughs and drags his fingertips through Kent’s hair. “Not as much as he used to.”

“That really inspires confidence.”

Eli squirms, and Kent rolls to the side so Eli can slide down until he and Kent are eye-to-eye, lying on their sides on the mattress. “He just cares,” Eli says quietly. His eyes close halfway when Kent lays a hand against the side of Eli’s face. “It’s a hell of a lot better than anything my parents do.”

Protectiveness surges in Kent’s chest. “What do they do?”

Eli’s expression twists. “They don’t get the whole _gay_ thing,” he says. “They still think it’s a phase.”

Eli is not a crier, not like Kent knows Kent is a crier, but he still looks far more upset than Kent has ever seen him, and Kent does not like it in the least bit. He reaches out, pulling Eli on top of him, and they end up in some sort of weird, clingy cuddle-hug thing. In a couple of minutes, it is going to get uncomfortably hot, but for now, it is comforting. Eli exhales slowly and loudly into the pillow behind Kent’s head, and Kent kisses the curve of Eli’s bare shoulder.

“Nothing about you is a phase to me,” Kent whispers, and maybe he just admitted much more than he originally planned to in that statement, but when Eli simply holds Kent tighter – well, Kent finds it very hard to care.

* * *

Kent’s mother and Clark leave for their honeymoon in Iceland the morning after the wedding, but Kent and Eli (and Louisa and Thad) remain in the house for the rest of the weekend. Louisa and Thad go out, frequently, but Kent is too familiar a face in this neighborhood for him to go walking around in public hand-in-hand with Eli. Sometimes, keeping this relationship a secret is exhausting, but this weekend, Kent does not mind – not when it means he and Eli can bum around in pajamas for the entire day, alternating between video games and movies and meals. They even try a few rounds of darts, until it becomes obvious that Eli is terrible at it.

Late Sunday night, they are lounging on top of the covers of the bed in the guest room that was long ago designated at Kent’s, a movie playing on the small television mounted on the wall. Kent has no idea what the movie is about; he has spent the last hour or so fooling around his phone, scrolling endlessly through Twitter and Instagram.

“Let’s go,” Kent says abruptly.

Eli side-eyes him. “Go where?” he asks. “I don’t really want to get dressed at this hour.”

Kent shakes his head. “Not now. But – later this summer. To Banff. Or, I don’t know, somewhere in Canada where we can go hike and kayak and whatever soul-cleansing outdoor activities people do.”

Eli snorts. “You really want to kayak?”

“I want to get away with you.”

Eli grins. “I can work with that.”

One of Eli’s hands starts creeping up Kent’s thigh, and Kent tosses his phone onto the bedside table. “Thank God,” he says, pulling at Eli until Eli is straddling Kent’s hips, “I was getting so bored with that movie.”

Eli laughs, kissing Kent but pulling away every time Kent tries to deepen it. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” Eli says, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

“You love me,” Kent replies flippantly.

Eli finally kisses him for real, and Kent runs his hands down Eli’s sides, reveling in the shift and ripple of muscle beneath his fingertips. When they pull apart for breath, it occurs to Kent that he should say it, so he does:

“I love you.”

For a moment, Eli can only stare at Kent; then he bursts out with giddy laughter, burying his face into the side of Kent’s neck. Kent can feel Eli’s smile against his skin.

“Eli?” Kent asks uncertainly. “You all right?”

Eli takes a breath or two to compose himself before pulling away, sitting up all the way. “I’m happy,” he says, resting the fingertips of one of his hands on Kent’s stomach.

Kent smiles. “Good.”

“And I love you, too.”

Warmth shoots through Kent’s entire body, and, overcome by it, Kent grabs Eli by the waist and flips their positions. Eli laughs again, a full and bright sound that fills the entire room.

They are both smiling so much it makes it hard to kiss, but they keep doing it anyway.

* * *

_**Epilogue.** _

* * *

The season starts, and they win. And they keep on winning. They break the franchise record of a ten-game win streak and push it all the way to fifteen. Then they lose a few, but in the end, it hardly matters: they have won a hell of a lot, and the word _dynasty_ is starting to slip between people’s lips.

There are a few other teams, of course – even after all these years, the Blackhawks are still competitive cup contenders, and the Rangers and the Stars and the Caps are right up there with them. Teams that were young a few years ago have also caught their stride: the Oilers, the Red Wings, even the Falcs and the Jets.

Their only problem is, they cannot catch the Aces.

It all comes to head in game five of the final series. The Red Wings are throwing everything they have got, but one mistake too many in the first period, and they have lost the game before the opening twenty have even passed.

It is 2018, and the Aces are the Stanley Cup champions again.

* * *

Kent is on the ice for the final minutes, and the first thing he does when the horn sounds is turn heel and charge down the ice towards Lieberenz. He is not the only one with that idea; the entire team is there, and Lieberenz absolutely deserves it. This year, he has put up stats to rival those of Lundqvist and Price and Crawford.

Kent is vaguely aware of Aces staff setting up podiums and carpets and the like for the awards presentations, but he is too busy screaming hoarsely with his teammates to take real note of any of it, other than the fact that Eli is shuffling onto the ice, wearing his press badge and holding his cell phone.

It has been just over a year with Eli, and Kent feels like everything has changed.

Eli has been there for Kent, through thick and thin, always ready to drag Kent through PR events or curl up with him for lazy days with Kit and a half-dozen movies. He knows when Kent needs space and when Kent needs someone to drag him out of a self-abusive funk. He is there to kiss Kent and watch Kit during Aces roadies and remind Kent to wear things other than board shorts and tank-tops, and Kent is so in love with him.

Kent does what he can for Eli in return – going on hikes or runs or camping trips with him, being supportive whenever Eli has to endure a call to his parents, meeting Ricardo and totally _not_ pissing himself when Ricardo threatens him – but Kent is still frequently overwhelmed by the feeling that he does not deserve Eli. Eli tries to convince him otherwise, and it is one of those things they can argue about for days, but in the end, it does not matter all that much – Kent loves Eli and, somehow, Eli also loves Kent.

On the ice, they get organized and go through the formalities of it all – several Aces get an impressive amount of hardware, as do a couple Red Wings – and their coaches say a few words and the league head honchoes make a speech or two and Kent manages to string together some words that do not make him sound like a complete idiot. And finally, _finally_ they hand Kent the Cup – the only trophy that really matters in this world – and Kent raises it, exultant, to the sound of hundreds of thousands of fans screaming for him and his team.

Kent hands the Cup off to Romi, and as everyone descends into chaos again, Kent only has eyes for one person.

There has to be a thousand cameras focused on Kent, but Kent does not care. He glides to a stop at the boards where Eli is standing, a smile splitting his cheeks and his phone forgotten at his side.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Eli says.

Kent grins. “I want you to kiss me,” he says.

Eli is surprised; after a second, he asks, “Are you sure?”

Kent starts to nod, but then shakes his head. “ _I’m_ going to kiss _you_ ,” he amends.

Lights start flashing, cameras shutters going off like crazy, but Kent does not care. He puts his hands on Eli’s hips, and Kent is wearing skates so he has to duck his head a bit, but Eli has a fistful of Kent’s sweater, and they are kissing. They are _kissing_ , and they keep kissing, and Kent is soaring.

They have to stop because Kent is still rather breathless because of, well, everything, but they do not go far. They keep their foreheads pressed together, Kent’s sweaty hair sticking to both of their skin, breathing each other in. “I can’t believe we’re here,” Eli says, his voice hoarse.

Kent smiles. “Better believe it, baby,” he replies, and then kisses Eli again, just because he is happy and he can.

Kent is on top of the world.

* * *

A box of mini pies arrives in the mail a week later. The attached note reads, _Congratulations, to both of you, from both of us_.

“These are insanely good,” Eli says from somewhere in Kent’s kitchen. “Where are they from?”

Kent stares at the note for a little longer, then shakes his head and sets it on the side-table next to his front door. “From a friend,” he says, joining Eli in the kitchen.

Eli is standing at the counter, a half-eaten pie on the plate before him. Kent approaches him from behind, boxing Eli into the kitchen island and dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “You need to try one,” Eli tells him, looking at Kent from the corner of his eye.

Kent opens his mouth, and Eli rolls his eyes but still obliges and gives Kent a forkful of pie. “It’s good,” Kent agrees, then presses a kiss to Eli’s cheek, leaving pie crust flakes and sugar on Eli’s cheek.

Eli makes a face. “Gross,” he says, but he leans back against Kent’s chest regardless, so Kent turns him around and kisses him until he can taste the pie on Eli’s lips.

* * *

Because everyone he knows lives to torture him, his team throws him an unnecessarily huge surprise birthday party at Romi and Aurora’s new house. At least it is not one of those crazy, alcohol-filled parties of Kent’s rookie days; this is more of a family event, and while there are still some drinks (provided by courtesy of Aurora’s father), no one is getting shit-faced, and Kent’s teammates bring their families. Carly also managed to get Louisa to fly out, though Kent’s mother and Clark could not make it.

Kent absolutely does _not_ jump when Eli pushes him into Romi’s backyard and everyone hops out screaming, no matter what Eli says. Kent also does not get teary-eyed when Louisa hug-attacks him and shouts, “You’re so _old!_ ” right in Kent’s ear.

For the first half-hour, it is a whirlwind of _Happy Birthdays_ and _Congratulations_ and the like, but once all of that settles down, Kent relaxes in a chair at the edge of the pool with Carly, Sandro, and their kid – a chubby little baby of about four months named Bettina. She has Carly’s blue eyes and Sandro’s dark hair, and she is the only thing Sandro will talk about to anyone.

Carly lets Kent hold her for a while, and Kent is just relieved Bettina does not start squalling as soon as Kent has her in his arms. “Hey, kid,” he says.

Bettina just kind of looks at him, and Kent scrunches his nose. “What? I got something on my face?”

Carly bursts out laughing, and Kent looks up so sharply his sunglasses fall from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. Carly laughs even harder, and Kent scowls. “What?”

“You’re talking to her like she’s an adult,” Carly says, honest-to-God tears leaking out of her eyes.

“What, am I supposed to use baby talk?”

“I’d pay to see that,” Eli says, coming over with a two beers in hand. He holds one out to Kent, and Kent tilts his head at the ground, where Eli sets it before sitting on the edge of Kent’s chair.

“I hate you all,” Kent grumbles, and then looks down at Bettina. “All my friends are awful,” he tells the baby, and of course _that_ is what makes her smile and coo.

Kent does eventually get into the pool, because hell, Vegas is _hot_ in the summer. Kiki and Romi rope him into a pool basketball game against Fassi’s kids, and Kent is utter shit at any sport that is not hockey or soccer, so he ends up swallowing a bunch of pool water and getting his ass kicked by a pair of eleven year olds. Afterwards, Kent reapplies sunscreen, wolfs down a couple burgers, and then dozes next to Eli and Carly and Carly’s kid until Aurora emerges from the house with a large sheet cake in her hands, Romi following behind her with Edmund in his arms. There is the obligatory out-of-tune, war-chant rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and Kent’s heart swells a bit as he tugs Louisa close and Eli’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

When it starts to get dark, Kent’s teammates with younger kids start heading out. Sandro and Carly leave after Kent talks awkwardly to the baby one last time, and Fassi’s family and Lieberenz’s German clan also take off. Romi disappears for about half an hour to put Edmund to bed. Once the sun has completely set, though, Romi returns to help Sebs start up a fire in the huge pit that is set off a little bit behind the pool, underneath the cover of several large trees. Louisa dashes out to her rental car and returns with several grocery bags full of graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

“Just like when we were kids,” she tells Kent with a smile, and Kent wraps her in a tight hug and does not let go until she starts jabbing his ribs.

Eventually, Kent ends up sharing a chair with Eli at the side of the fire. Well, less like sharing and more like Kent has curled up the best he can on Eli’s lap. Eli’s hand is a steadying weight at the base of Kent’s spine, and Kent has one arm looped around Eli’s neck.

Romi is in the middle of recounting a story about one of Kiki’s many bar adventures when Eli turns his head and presses his nose into Kent’s cheek. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs.

The night has cooled off significantly, but Kent is surrounded by heat: on one side, there is the still roaring fire, and on the other, the cozy warmth of Eli’s body. He has a beer in hand and still has the taste of marshmallow on his tongue, and God, what did Kent ever do to deserve this? This love, this warmth, this simple _happiness_.

Kent ducks his head and tucks his face against Eli’s neck. “I love you,” he tells Eli quietly, pressing a kiss to Eli’s collarbone, and Eli hums contentedly.

Kent has never felt so at peace in his entire life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, everyone, who read the first part of this series and left so many encouraging comments, and thank you for reading this second part, also.
> 
> Fun little anecdotes!  
> • Kent is great with kids but is clueless with babies. So clueless.  
> • The Aces are in Vegas. That's my excuse for the constant "gambling" at their PR events.  
> • It's never fully explained in either part, so I should take a moment to mention that Carly Romanski is a physical therapist, primarily for professional athletes (which is how she met Sandro).  
> • Also, that Eli is Mexican-American.  
> • Bittle rage-baking is one of my favorite things.  
> • Louisa and Thad get hitched before Kent and Eli do. In fact, Kent and Eli date for a whole three years before they get engaged (which is less of a proposal and more of a "Should we?" "Sure, why not" situation). They're then engaged for another two years before they get married.
> 
> Again, thank you for reading!


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